He’s not at all what I expected a future king would be, and a part of me can’t stop wondering if he might be able to help me. Vexar has power. If anyone can do something to actually stop the slave trade, it would be him. I just need to know if he’s the kind of person who would rather fix his problems or ignore them.
I lift my head and stare at the wall of orange sand outside the window. “If you win your fights, what happens next?”
It takes him a long time to answer, but he eventually says, “I become king.”
“And if that happens, do you plan on changing how the Obligation is done?”
“Yes,” he says firmly.
I turn andpoint at his chest. “Let me clean that up.”
“Just to confirm,we aren’t going to be talking about this?” I ask, as I dab the blood from his chest with a clean square of gauze.
“What is there to discuss?”
“I dunno, maybe why you just mauled yourself?”
He grunts and turns his face away from me, clearly uninterested in the topic.
I was convinced he was trying to claw his heart out, but honestly, the gouges he left are pretty shallow, and that makes me think he isn’t lying. At the same time, I was putting my entire body weight into his arm, and it didn’t move. At all. It felt like he was really digging those claws in. Or maybe his arm was locked in place? Or?—
I let out a choked laugh as I realize why his arm didn’t move. “Holy shit, you’re scary strong.”
The tension breaks, and he lets out a laugh of his own that quickly turns into a groan.
“Sorry,” I say with a wince, “didn’t mean to make you laugh.”
He shakes his head reassuringly. “It is fine.”
Ready to get back to work, I move into position and run the sani-light over everything. “You know, I’m still a little shocked you haven’t passed out again.”
“Why would I pass out?”
“The pain,” I say as I open a fresh suture packet.
“I am used to pain. It does not bother me so much anymore.”
I glance at the scar that runs down his forearm. “Is that because of all the scars?”
He grunts in confirmation but doesn’t elaborate. Sometimes scars are just painful memories, and if that’s the case with him, he has a lot of painful memories.
“You good if I keep stitching?” I ask.
He nods, and I get back to work. But seconds later, he’s squirming and breathing like he just ran a marathon.
“You sure you’re ok?” I ask with a raised brow.
“Have you ever taken a life?”
I reel back, surprised by the question and the lack of preamble. “Well, that came out of nowhere…” I’m not sure if I should even answer that. “Why do you want to know?” I ask.
“I am curious.”
I click my tongue. “So are you in pain, or not?” He doesn’t answer, but he’s stopped squirming, so he must be ok. With a sigh, I give him an answer. “I have.”
“In combat?”
“Yeah, I’m not big on casual murder.” I start on the next suture, and Vexar doesn’t react at all to the forceps or the needle.Maybe it’s not the pain making him restless?
